Admit it. You saw the ads. Fargo is a TV series now? How is that supposed to work?

Of course, if the films of the Coen Brothers
have taught us anything, it’s that the universe indeed works in mysterious and
unlikely ways. And true to form, here we are. Multiple Emmys and Producers
Guild Awards later, FX can proudly show off the unlikeliest adaptation in
recent memory, a reboot of a story that was never intended to be a franchise,
and arguably the best show on television.
In this magazine, we talk about "vision” a lot, often enough that we
worry that the word starts to lose its meaning. But we don’t know what else to
call it, other than pure creative vision, to plunge into a singularly
self-contained feature film and find an entire TV universe inside. In this
case, the vision belongs to a gentleman named Noah Hawley.

Regular Produced By readers
know that TV showrunners come from all walks of life. Noah Hawley can chart the
progression from musician (struggling) to novelist (well regarded) to
screenwriter (successful). His career in
television provided him with essential resources at every stage: a year writing
for Bones to learn the craft; a first series, The Unusuals, which aired only 10 episodes, but gave him the opportunity to
create and run a show; a second series, My Generation, also
one-season-and-out, paired him with TV veteran Warren Littlefield, who’s served
as his right-hand producing partner ever since. It was Littlefield who first
sparked to Fargo, and sensed what Hawley could do with the
story. The rest, well, that’s history, you betcha.

Produced By editor
Chris Green caught up with Noah Hawley while the producer was busy on location
in Vancouver. Kindly carving out an hour before the production day got rolling,
Hawley proved more than ready to dig into the nitty-gritty of producing
television in general and Fargo in particular, whether discussing how to
handle network notes, his approach to creating tension through the use of
music, or the privilege of enlarging upon the pitiless but humane spirit of a
Coen Brothers classic.

Not every writer becomes a producer or a showrunner. How did that
process unfold for you?

At one point I was between books, so I wrote
a script that I sold in a pitch. Paramount had optioned my first book, so I
ended up adapting that as well. Basically, within six months, I had three
feature deals, which was a huge left turn from writing fiction. And then at a
certain point—because my motto is "What else can I get away with?”—I started
talking to the TV reps at ICM. Out of those two meetings came two pilot deals:
one at CBS and one at FX. I soon realized that if any of those shows ever got
picked up, I should know how to produce television, right? So I came to LA and
did some staffing interviews and went to work on the first season of Bones with Hart Hanson, because he told me I would
learn how to produce on the show.

Right. So as part of your first encounters with the industrial mechanism
of making TV, how did Hart help acclimate you?

Hart was a great mentor because he taught me that there’s a
process to this, to being entrusted with a huge sum of money to make something
for a large audience, and then to still try to make something that reflects
your artistic drive. I think Hart’s style played into my natural inclination as
well. I’m not a battler. You rarely win in the long run by fighting every
single thing. Hart sort of taught me how to "manage up,” if you know what I
mean. I think the thing that most writers don’t realize is often half of your
time as a showrunner is spent managing network and studio notes, which is way,
way, way too much time to spend when you have a show to make. So the key is:
How do you do that in a way that allows you to get what you want while making
them feel like they’re getting what they want? A lot of it is figuring out what
does the note really mean? A note is often a symptom, a referring pain. They
think that they don’t like this scene, but really it’s because something
earlier wasn’t set up properly. They often aren’t experts at diagnosing the
problem. They just feel the pain. I mean, a useful note is "This is confusing.”
or "I know what you’re going for here, but I don’t think you got there.” A note
is not "I would do it differently.” That’s not a note. But rarely is the best
response to stamp your feet and yell. Sometimes the right solution is not to
engage with the note. You see how serious it is. If they keep bringing it up,
you can address it down the line if you have to.

When I was doing My Generation, we had
a scene where Mehcad Brooks’ character was stationed in Afghanistan. He’d been
shot at earlier in the hour, but he was telling his wife he was coming home ...
no matter what they threw at him, he was gonna come home.

Noah Hawley (right) on location for "Fargo" with cast member Angus Sampson

I’m a big fan of catharsis, that idea that you
can build emotionally to a release. So for that moment I picked this song that
worked perfectly, because it starts [as one thing] and it builds into [another
thing]. Paul Lee’s note came back that the song wasn’t right, that it was too
sad. I was confused. I mean, it’s not a sad song. It has this driving,
uplifting part. So I went around and around with them about how A) it’s the
perfect song and B) like, why do you even care? Why does it even matter, on
some level, what the last song of the second episode is? It’s not like you’re
going to have a massive groundswell of audience leaving or arriving based upon
that piece of the thing. But I was determined to get what I wanted.

Now, in the very beginning
of the song, when it’s quiet and more emotional, the singer is singing the
words, "I’m sorry.” And I finally realized that it was just those words—"I’m
sorry”—at the beginning, that were establishing a tone I didn’t intend. That
was where the note came from.

So I had the composer put a piece of score in
the beginning to replace that early part of the song, and then it built into
the second half of the song, and the score was sort of no less emotional but it
just didn’t have those words in it. I even sent an email to Paul, including the
lyrics to the song, and showing how positive they were. And I got to use it. On
some level, it felt like a complete waste of my time—literally hours and hours
that were spent analyzing the problem and figuring out how to address it. But
it was important to me and so I did it. Every season has hundreds of examples
like that.

If you don’t get what you want, it’s your
fault, on some level. Sometimes they’ll never give in, and it’s a losing
battle. But I start from the assumption that there is a creative solution. I
just haven’t thought of it yet.

how did Fargo come about? How did this 20-year-old movie, fondly
remembered, but without a lot of common currency, get turned into award-winning
long-form television?

Well, MGM had just come back
from the ashes one more time. Warren Littlefield had been looking at their
library and Fargo was a property that had some possibilities.
It was interesting to me, but it just didn’t feel like broadcast was the place
to do it. You’d just end up making Picket Fences, which is
fine, but it’s not what the movie was. So it sort of went dormant and I kind of
forgot about it until Warren told me that it had been set up at FX with no
writer. I just happened to be going into FX the same week about another
project. And so the discussion turned to well, how would I turn Fargo
into a TV show?

And I said, "Well, it’s not a TV show for a couple of
very clear reasons.” I mean, one of which being it’s this crazy and violent and
very odd case at the end of which Frances McDormand gets into bed and tomorrow
is gonna be a normal day. That’s her reward. And the reason that we watched
that movie is because that was the one case in her whole career that was that
bad. And if she woke up tomorrow—the start of the next episode—and there was
another crazy Coen Brothers case, A) you couldn’t call it a true story anymore
and B) it would start to become ungrounded and less believable.

Why is the movie called Fargo, after all? It’s set in
Minnesota. Only the first scene of the movie is set in North Dakota, and yet
the movie is called Fargo because the word itself is evocative of a
place, this northern frontier. As Joel and Ethan said, it’s Siberia with family
restaurants. It’s where you can have the Swedish meatballs at the buffet and
then freeze to death in the parking lot.

So what if Fargo was also a type of true crime case where
truth is stranger than fiction? An anthology series works perfectly in that
world because it’s the sensibility that remains but the story changes.

How receptive was FX to an anthology series?

The first season of American Horror Story had done well for them, so
they were open to it. What I like about FX is that "Fearless” isn’t just their
brand; they legitimately want to take risks and break new ground. If you’re
trying to differentiate yourself from the whatever, 52 other broadcasters or
outlets, you can only define yourself by the quality of your programming. So,
yeah, they were very receptive.

So how did you approach turning
that pitch into a story that lived and breathed on its own accord?

That’s the challenge of it, right? It’s not that they asked me to
remake the movie or make a sequel to the movie. It’s like they said, "Here’s a
painting of a city. We want you to paint the same city but with different
buildings.” You know what I mean? None of the characters are the same, and it’s
not the same story. So what is it? It’s something that has the same feeling to
it, but what is that? So, on some level I had to distill what it was that made
that movie, that movie.

How did you answer that for yourself?

It’s sort of not "articulate-able.” A lot of it is instinctual.
Knowing that Joel and Ethan were very happy with the script was very
encouraging. Having their work as a model gave me a certain leeway that I could
say, "Well, look. It’s not that I want a 10-minute parable
sequence in Episode 5 but, I mean, it’s a Coen Brothers movie, right?” There’s
certainly precedent there. At the same time, it’s not about idiosyncratic
choices just for their own sake. It’s about internalizing that there’s no such
thing as melodrama in a Coen Brothers movie. You never have a moment of purple
melodrama. And yet, in their best films, there’s still emotion. I mean, look at
Fargo. In the end, there’s a sense of human dignity
and beauty that comes through even though they never once tried to play to the
audience’s emotions. So then the question becomes: How do you effectuate that?
From a filmmaking standpoint, you have to figure out, how does the camera move?
How are we lighting? Editorially, how are we putting this thing together? On a
production level, I’ve always taken pride in creating an environment for the
artists that feels supportive and where everyone knows that we’re all going to
do our best work and then go home to our families.

Well, there’s "doing your best work” and "doing your best work while on
location in a frozen wasteland.”

It was well below zero for most of our
production calendar. There’s very little stage work on Fargo. It’s not a TV show where you have a lot of
standing sets and you keep going back to them. So we’re out most days. And
there’s a lot of story to move through, so it’s this constant jigsaw puzzle. We
had to figure out how to do that the first time, and then the second time I
went ahead and made it bigger with more moving pieces and more locations. I
think we had three extra days or an extra week added on to our production
calendar, but not a lot. Most problems you can solve one way or another if you
put your head to it the right way. I think that Colin Bucksey won an Emmy for
Episode 6 of our first season, which was the blizzard episode, with two huge
action sequences in it. Of course, it was sunny for most of that blizzard so
that entire blizzard is just special effects, which is a testament to John
Ross, our VFX artist.

It’s like a military operation on some level.
What it comes down to is having the confidence in your prepping and planning. I
choose every extra. I’m involved in every decision that gets made on the show.
I sit with every department and have a sense of how everything looks and how it
all works. We encourage all of our directors to storyboard the bigger
sequences. If you know what you’re looking for, and you know when you’ve got
it, you can make good time. But you have to know.

And not only do you have to know… your team needs to know as well. I know
that producers give tremendous thought to "casting” the crew and department
heads. What was that process like for you?

Well, it’s tough. We got lucky in some places, and in other places
we had to make real adjustments. You come across a certain attitude sometimes,
often among groups where people are accustomed to doing low-budget things.
There’s a sort of "good enough is good enough” attitude, right? "It’s just a
chair, what does it matter?” You know what I mean?

Basically, you’ve got to weed that right out.
You’ve got to tell people, "I want your best ideas. I want your most creative
ideas. This isn’t that show where ‘good enough is good enough.’ This is the
show you’ve been dreaming about working on, where you finally get to express yourself
as an artist.” At a certain point you realize that some people want that, and
other people just want to punch in and punch out. And so you have to weed that
out. So I’m not precious about that. That’s not to say you fire people
capriciously. You give people a chance to do their best work. But if they
can’t, you’ve got to make a change.

Noah Hawley on the set of "Fargo" with cast members Colin Hanks (seated left)and Allison Tolman (seated right)

Right. That feels like AN even more demanding mandate on this particular
show, which comes out of a specific authorial voice that everyone is already
familiar with. It’s not like you have the luxury of making up your voice as you
go.

Certainly, we have these sort of rules that
we go through. There’s stuff that you don’t see in Joel and Ethan’s movies.
They don’t pull focus between a foreground actor and a background actor. You’re
going to either cut to a different shot to highlight that actor or you’re going
to let the actor be out of focus. The camera moves on the track in very
traditional ways. They very rarely use steadicam. They certainly don’t use
handheld. In general, it’s a pretty classic approach to filmmaking

This year I think I asserted a slightly more
aggressive style because I felt like it suited the period and the material—a
little more fast-pushing our dolly out in some places, that kind of thing. But
I understand my responsibility to Joel and Ethan and their work, and it’s an
honor to get to speak their language.

given the critical and audience response, whatever expansion the second
season represents seems to have worked for everybody. How did you approach
doing something that continues the emotional, thematic thread that the movie
and the first season have started, but widens the scope?

You can’t be afraid to throw it all out and
start again. I like to joke that the first bad idea was to make the show in the
first place, and the second bad idea was, once it worked, to throw it out and
start again. The minute that you know you’re making terrible decisions, you’re
just sort of liberated [laughs]. But what I have that a lot of other
people don’t have is a canon of films that I can refer to. Not that Joel and
Ethan have mined every nuance of every story, but all of their films are
reference points for me. There are dynamics or themes that occur in their work
that suggest a good jumping off point.

What I’ve found is
there’s usually a catalytic event. In the movie Fargo it was that a guy hired these people to
kidnap his wife. In my first season, it was a man who had been bullied by
everybody ends up in the emergency room sitting next to another man, who’s very
much his opposite. Where do you go from there? In the second season, it was a
woman who ran someone down and then drove home with the guy sticking out of her
windshield and started dinner. And then you think, well, that feels like the
right story, the right tone, so now what? I felt like I could build a story
around that. What does that story want to be?

But even
musically, once we started editing, I realized I couldn’t put any of our music
from the first season into this second season, because they’re totally
different stories. In our first year, the musical sound of tension we had was
this sort of "washing machine sound” that would rise and fall, a very steady
mounting pressure. And then in the second year, when things get stressful, they
get more chaotic. Anything could happen. So we have these horns that come in. It’s a much more anarchic sense of tension.
All of that comes by building the whole thing block by block.

But it’s a process, and as much as FX and MGM
were 100% behind starting over, there’s still a ghost in the room, in that we
made a show that won every award that they have, and now we were throwing it
out and starting again. The first hour of the second year feels nothing like
the first hour of the first year. It doesn’t do the same things. So it took an
act of faith on everybody’s part, which was to trust me, we’re going to get
there. It’s going to work. But I was probably the only one who was 100%
confident of that, because I saw it in my head.

I do want to ask you about one of the most decisive borrowings from the
original film which is your "This is a True Story…” opening titles. What do
those titles mean to you? What do they do for the story that follows them, a
story which pretty definitively did not happen?

Well, it’s interesting. When I went into the network that first
meeting, I said, "What we have to figure out is: What’s our Mike Yanagita?” Do
you remember that character from the movie?

The Asian guy who she went to school with,
right? They had lunch or dinner or something. Right. So we’re in the middle of
our movie and this guy calls her, "Hey, Margie. It’s Mike Yanagita. We went to
high school together.” And then she ends up having this very awkward lunch with
him where he talks about the high school girl he married who died of leukemia
and how he’s just so lonely. She finds out later that he made that whole thing
up and the wife actually has a restraining order against him.

The first time you see it,
you’re wondering, "Why is this in the movie?” My answer was that it contributes
to the "true story” quality of it, because the only reason you would put that
encounter in the movie was because it "actually happened.”

The true story thing allows us to play against
the archness of crime, of crime movies on some level. Calling something a true
story liberates you from those clichés of plot that seem to dictate every story
ever written as basically white hat versus black hat on a collision course. In
real life, things don’t play out like they do in the movies. When people think
something is true, smaller moments become more dramatic and sort of allowed.So
when you say something is a true story it allows you to make those left
turns.

The audience has their expectations because they think they know how
these things play out. So you can use those expectations to steer them down a
different road. Again, because I don’t have melodrama available to me, we try
and invest the simplest moments with that kind of power. It’s how, in the
second season, Patrick Wilson’s daughter made him an ashtray at school and
gives it to him when he’s just had a bad day. And he gets a little teary. Now,
on paper, the scene isn’t that. To allow the dignity of these characters to
come through in the most dry and simple ways makes the story more powerful than
writing these big emotional turns that are manipulating the audience. On a
filmmaking level, it allowed the Coens and their camera to take a much more
objective role. I think on all those levels, the true story device allows us to
present this truth-is-stranger-than-fiction idea in a way that always has to be
grounded and credible while at the same time pushing those boundaries.

In November 2015, an article in the New York Times by Maureen Down took a deep dive into the state of women in the entertainment industry. The statistics presented where frustrating and depressing. The piece stated that in both 2013 and 2014, women were only 1.9% of the directors for the 100 top-grossing films. A study by professor Martha Lauzen of San Diego State University reported that in 2014, 95% of cinematographers, 89% of screenwriters, 82% of editors, 81% of executive producers and 77% of producers were men. This is despite the fact that in the same year, women made up 50.8% of the U.S. population

The one bright spot in this
maddening set of figures is that female representation in the producing ranks
is slightly better than in most other areas of the business. As more voices
have spoken out about correcting the inequity of men versus women in front of
and behind the camera, both in regard to pay rate and simply the number of people
filling the jobs, mentorship is often brought up as a key factor of the
equation. And if you ask some of today’s most prolific female producers about
pioneering mentor figures, one name comes up over and over again: Debra Hill.

Hill’s body of
work includes both commercial and critical successes, such as the Halloween
series, Escape from New York, Clue, Adventures
in Babysitting and The Fisher King. She passed away in 2005 at the age of 54 after a battle with cancer.
While she may not be entirely responsible for the better-than-average
representation of female producers in the industry, one could make an argument
that she had a significant influence on getting more women into the producer
pipeline. And it’s not just because she made a point of encouraging other
women— it’s also because she was a fantastic producer. She didn’t just open
doors for her colleagues—she demonstrated how to expertly do the job once they
walked through them, thereby helping to set them up for longevity in the
business.

Producer Debra Hill and friends on the set of "The Dead Zone", 1982. Getty.

Hill earned her
crack producing skills by doing practically every job on set before taking on
her first producer title. She started as a PA on documentaries and worked her
way through many different departments, including script supervisor, assistant
director and second-unit director. Her big break came in 1978 when she co-wrote
and produced Halloween with director John Carpenter. The film,
purportedly made for about $300,000, had a domestic gross of $47 million. This
made her one of the very first independent female producers with a bona fide
box office hit.

As she progressed
through her career, Hill maintained her passion for the process of moviemaking.
Many of those she worked with and/or influenced, such as Stacey Sher and Gale
Anne Hurd, have commented on what seems to be Hill’s defining legacy:

There’s no above
and below the line— it’s all one crew moving forward, trying to get there and
make the day. Every person on a film or TV crew is essential to that project’s
success, regardless of their title or role on production.

Sher, whose
producing credits range from Gattaca to Erin Brockovich to The Hateful Eight,
was Director of Development at
Hill/Obst Productions in 1985 and eventually became Vice President of
Production. "I think she was an unbelievably detail oriented, hands-on
producer,” said Sher. "She kept track of every nickel of every petty cash
receipt. She certainly had a great sense for story—she cowrote the Halloween
movies with John—but I think that while she had a great story sense, she made production
more creative. She found creative solutions and always looked at things from a
directorial and producer’s point of view.”

At Hill’s
memorial, Barri Evins, who served as President of Debra Hill Productions from
1995–2001, provided an example of this when talking about their attempt to make
a film version of the television series Sea
Hunt. During a meeting, special
effects experts laid out complicated plans for filming the project, which was
set in the world of scuba diving. After listening to all of their ideas, Hill
laid out a much simpler plan using a small tank, green screen and specific
lighting package. Described Evins, "Their mouths dropped and there was utter
silence. And after a moment they said, ‘We think that would work.’ I honestly
don’t think they’d ever been in a meeting with a producer who turned around and
said to them ‘No, I don’t think so. I have a different idea and I’ve thought it
out.’”

In addition to
her deep knowledge of physical production, Hill was known for her generous and
affectionate nature. This manifested itself in every aspect of her career, from
her work on set to her support of emerging women in the business.

"Debra was
inclusive and supportive of other women,” said Sher. "I also saw the ‘protect
your space at the table’ mentality in Hollywood. I don’t think it’s true
anymore. We’re going to see more and more women coming into the business, with
every Lena Dunham, Sofia Coppola and Amy Schumer. You can’t be what you don’t
see. I really believe that now. I saw women who had my job, so I knew what I
wanted to do.”

Hill’s friend Gale Anne Hurd added, "It was more than mentoring. She looked at all
women, regardless of where you were on the ladder, as equals. It was less of a
mentor/mentee relationship than a ‘We are all sisters and we are all equal, and
we should share our knowledge, share power.’”

Hill and producer
Lynda Obst did just that while running Hill/Obst Productions together at
Paramount Pictures in the 1980s. During her remarks at Hill’s posthumous
Celebration of Life, Obst described the landscape when the two of them began
working together. "When we met in the ‘80s, there was no Women In Film. There
were very few women in film, in fact. And no women producers. There was no
women’s networking. There were executives, and at that time if one was fired,
one would be drafted to take her place.”

The two producers
met while Obst was working for Peter Guber and Hill came to her with the pitch
for Clue. "By the time I had met her, she had done every job on a movie set,
including making hit movies,” said Obst. "One of the first female studio heads
initiated some early ‘girls club’
networking —the late, great Dawn Steel—and suggested that Debra and I become
partners. She saw the yin/yang of us. Debra knew everything about physical
production and I knew development.”

Adventures in
Babysitting was everyone’s first
movie but Debra’s, and she generously taught us all. A key thing among a
thousand things she taught me is that a set is where a producer belongs. Not on
the phone or at the studio, but with the director, with the crew, making the
movie that you’d nurtured.”

Hurd, whose long
list of producing credits includes The Terminator, Alien and TheWalking Dead, said the most important thing that she learned
from Hill was to always be thoughtful and supportive regardless of how
frustrated you might be.

"Everyone should
be treated with respect,” said Hurd. "That’s why I think Debra was so important
as a positive role model because she could be tough, but she was always kind and
caring. Very rarely did she let the slings and arrows that we face every day in
this business get to her. Many of the rest of us had to become tougher and
tougher to give as good as the guys. And she never did that. She was able to
really maintain that level of grace that the rest of us just aspired to.”

Paul Reubens had
a similar experience working with Hill, who produced Big Top Pee-wee, which he cowrote and starred in. He said that on a particularly
difficult day on set Hill pulled him aside for a chat. "I don’t know if you
realize this,” she said, "but you dictate the mood of this whole set. You are
the star of this film and you wrote this film, and [if] you come in in a bad
mood, it just spreads so quickly.”

Remarked Reubens,
"And that was something I didn’t know. That’s something I have been able to
take with me from that movie and has helped me—and probably all the rest of the
people who have to work with me—quite a bit.”

Hill’s desire to
help succeeding generations of producers has continued beyond her death in the
form of the Debra Hill Fellowship, which was established by the PGA in 2005.
The Fellowship is awarded annually to "a man or woman completing an accredited
graduate program in producing, and whose work, interests, professionalism and passion
mirror that of Debra Hill.”

Hurd announced
the Fellowship at Hill’s memorial service. "With Debra, giving a hand to the
women who followed her wasn’t an afterthought to her success. It was an article
of faith. Despite a career’s worth of critical and commercial successes, I
firmly believe that if Debra had found herself 20 years later to be the only
woman producing feature films, she would have been profoundly disappointed.”

Lucienne Papon,
SVP, Scripted Television, ITV Studios America, was the first recipient of the
Debra Hill Fellowship in 2005. She had just graduated from UCLA’s MFA producing
program and was concurrently working as a creative executive for a production
company based at Sony.

"The boost of this award was all about me being at
a place where I was at the bottom of the totem pole but I had potential. It was
a validation that I had some of the qualities that would help me prevail in
this business at a time when I wasn’t so sure,” said Papon. The grant she
received allowed her to join networking organizations like Film Independent and
Women In Film, as well as to option material.

"When I think about Debra’s legacy, it’s all
about tenacity and passion,” said Papon. "I think that you have to really love
this business and love the messiness of collaboration and love storytelling and
love every job in the process—but it’s hard. I still had plenty of meetings
well into my career where I was the only woman in the room. So I appreciate her
devotion and commitment to our own authenticity, to speaking up with her own
power and most importantly, to never being afraid of rolling up her sleeves in
doing the work. I think the legacy of Debra Hill is that you do whatever is
asked of you to tell the best story you can and find the audience where they are.
I think that’s the foundation of producing.”

2010 Fellowship recipient Jacob Jaffke was
inspired by Hill’s passion for collaboration with writers and directors. A
horror fan himself, he has worked with writer/director Ti West on several films
including The Innkeepers (2011) and The Sacrament
(2013). Said Jaffke, "I’m not
saying that we’re Hill and Carpenter yet, but they’re definitely a duo that we
emulate.”

Like Hill, Jaffke worked his way through a number of jobs on the call
sheet before earning his first feature producer credit on Sleepwalk With Me, a project cowritten and codirected by, and starring comedian Mike
Birbiglia. Jaffke directly credits the Fellowship for the opportunity to
produce the film. He came out of Columbia’s graduate film program with a large
amount of debt, was living paycheck to paycheck and didn’t have the liberty of
cherry-picking his projects. He described himself as, "a gun for hire, working
on whatever projects I could to pay the rent.”
The Debra Hill Fellowship changed that.

"I think the most valuable thing the
Fellowship gave me was the ability to try out my own path and pick my own
projects,” said Jaffke. With the money from the Fellowship in the bank and his
bills paid, the young producer was able to pass on several films he didn’t
believe in and instead wait for the script with which he wanted to make his
mark. Sleepwalk With Me served him well, going on to win a number of
awards, including the Best of NEXT Audience Award at the 2012 Sundance Film
Festival. Jaffke was nominated for the 2014 Independent Spirit Piaget Producer
Award, and currently​heads​ development for Eric Newman and
hisStudioCanal–backed production company Grand Electric.

Hill’s effect on
successive generations of producers extends beyond those she personally worked
with or those who received money from the Fellowship in her name. PGA member
Lotti Pharris Knowles (Chastity Bites, I Am Divine) cites Hill as one of her heroes in the business.
A self-proclaimed "horror freak,” she came of age watching Halloween
after school every day while her mom was at work. "Sometimes I would have to
stop at a certain point because I got too freaked out,” she said, "but I just
was obsessed with the teenagers, the dialogue, the building of tension—it’s
just exquisite.”

Knowles already
had aspirations of being an entertainer by junior high. She described how at
some point during her multiple watchings of Halloween, "It hit me that there was this woman’s name who
had cowritten the film and produced it. This made me realize that I could be
something beyond just a movie star—there were other options in the
entertainment business. Debra Hill was this person that I could look to and
say, ‘Oh, women are doing this and it’s cool and I can do it too.’ By the time
I was about 12, 13, 14, I was telling everybody I was going to make horror
movies when I grew up ... and here I am.”
Knowles is currently working on a variety of projects, including The Black Rose Anthology, a horror series featuring female directors of
note.

How vital was Debra Hill to the PGA? Vital enough to serve as the
subject of Produced By's first cover interview, back in 2000.

One can imagine that Hill would be thrilled to hear that her body of
work and reputation have served as both encouragement and as an example to the
next generation of producers. She was honored by Women In Film in 2003 with the
Crystal Award. During her acceptance speech, she said, "I hope some day there
won’t be a need for Women In Film. That it will be People In Film. That it will
be equal pay, equal rights and equal job opportunities for everybody.”

When asked for a
reaction to that statement 12 years later, Gale Anne Hurd paused and said, "We
still need Women In Film.”

Hurd then went on to say
that there have been inroads but, "It certainly isn’t reflective of either the
diversity in this country or the gender equality in terms of actual stats of
the population. There are now a lot of women who are shining a spotlight on the
fact that it continues to this day. Women are paid less. Given less credit. And
it hasn’t changed as much as we would have liked. But at least the discussion
is now part of the zeitgeist. Debra began that.”

-Tamara
Krinsky is an Emmy award-winning writer/producer, actress and broadcast host.
She recently hosted the PGA’s coverage of the Producers Guild Awards.

Ever wish
you could get inside someone’s head who has the guidance you need? You know,
when you’re struggling with especially tricky challenges? Lucky for us, Julie
Goldman (with whom I just worked on Amazon Prime’s The New
Yorker Presents) graciously
opened up with some invaluable insights. Here are some choice bits of what I
learned from a whirlwind tour of Julie’s thoughts, experience and professional
priorities…

For those readers who are not familiar with her impressive body of work, Julie is a prolific producer. She founded Motto Pictures in 2009. Since then, Motto has specialized in producing and executive producing documentary feature films. Working as creative producers, Motto is the company behind over two dozen films that have won awards and been distributed throughout the world, including: Life, Animated, Weiner, Best of Enemies, 3 ½ Minutes, Ten Bullets, Manhunt, God Loves Uganda, Art and Craft, Gideon’s Army, and Buck. The team at Motto – producers Julie Goldman, Christopher Clements, Carolyn Hepburn and associate producers Sean Lyness and Marissa Ericson – work to ensure that each film is carefully guided throughout the filmmaking process, the festival run and to all distribution platforms worldwide. Julie recently received the 2016 Amazon Studios Sundance Institute Producer’s Award recognizing "bold vision and a commitment to continuing work as a creative producer in the independent space.”

Creative
Producer = Director, right?

With television, the
Creative Producer is the Director. I’d say with feature documentaries, it’s
still very auteur and director–driven but the director can’t direct in a
vacuum. When we work with a director at Motto Pictures, we act as something to
push against, a point of resistance for the creative process to work against.
We work with really strong directors who have very specific creative visions
and then we help them break down what those visions are, and most importantly,
will those approaches achieve the goals of the film. Sometimes it’s a process
of working with the director on the creative vision for the film. Sometimes
it’s finding a way to get their creative vision made into the film. So the
scope of my producing activity depends on the person who is directing, but the
objectives are always the same – finding the right balance for the film.

Choosing from
the myriad of festivals and online venues:

For
me, it’s always "See what’s coming and try to stay ahead of it.” Right now it
feels like we’re in a golden age of documentary. There are more and more
companies looking to embrace feature docs. Yet there’s also a kind of downturn.
The grosses aren’t as high as they were at the box office, so are distributors
going to pay the same kind of money for the films? It’s always been up and down
in the doc world. But we’ve been more steady than regular indie fiction film
has been. There’s of course, HBO—the gold standard that’s been there for docs
from the beginning of cable television. But there are so many others now. We
just did Life,
Animated
with A&E IndieFilms, which was a great experience. And Discovery is now
making a commitment to documentary features. Nat Geo is making a commitment.
Netflix and Amazon are suddenly bringing a huge influx of, not only financing
for films, but more of an ability to get your film to different platforms.
Right now it feels pretty incredible. And the material is bottomless. That is
the beauty of documentary. It’s about what’s happening right now, out there in
the world, or what’s been happening and is still happening, but whatever it is,
it is truly stranger than fiction.

It
depends on the festival. And it depends what you’re looking for for each film.
Going to Sundance this year — with Life, Animated — we were looking for
distribution. With Weiner,
we
had just signed distribution with IFC Sundance Selects. So for that film it was
really just the initial bounce of getting it into the world. There was really
insane publicity happening with the New York Post and the Daily News cover pages before anybody had even seen Weiner. Quite an unusual experience. For Life, Animated, doing the festivals was
about getting interest from international markets, and it was also the prestige
of having it at Sundance and the ability to announce it to the world. Receiving
Sundance’s 2016 U.S. Grand Jury Prize: Documentary was like the cherry on the
cake. It was the perfect launch. And then we had sorted out all of the
international deals enough to have it in Berlin at BFM being sold already.

On deciding
whether the story should be short form or long form:

Motto
does a lot of short form. This year alone we’ve done three shorts. The subject
drives what the length should be a lot of times. Sometimes you can capture the
essence of the story and have it feel like it’s a full film. And other times
you have themes and stories that just need more time to explore and tell.

Beyond
formatting, on storytelling itself — that no documentary is the complete
record. It’s not an archival transcript. It’s a point of view. We’re not saying
something that is untrue. But it’s not the total story. It is never everyone’s
side:

Otherwise
it’s just a document that is going to be pretty dry. That’s fine for some
people who want to make those films. But I think the idea for us is to make
features where people can go either to a theater or to television or online and
have an immersive experience. I’m not talking about shorts which also kind of
mix genre as well. But for features, you want to make something that people are
going to be able to completely get absorbed by for 90 minutes. It’s the same
thing as any kind of storytelling. You want to do it in a way that’s going to
be engaging to an audience. Like you said, I’m not going to make up a whole
other crazy story that’s not true, but what I’m going to do is use different
material, take from different genres, and create new art.

On getting the
story subject’s trust:

Putting
yourself in their shoes is probably the most important thing. What would you
want to be assured of, what would you want to know about these people who are
coming into your life so that you could really trust them? You have to have a
lot of empathy when you’re working to gain someone’s trust because a lot of
times producers say, "Oh, yeah. Just get them to sign.” No. They’re giving a
real gift to you in opening their lives and trusting. And I take that very
seriously.

They weren’t
judged. They were respected.

Yes.

And taking that
trust one step further ... On whether or not the story subjects get to see the
finished piece before it’s out in the world — (I mean, what if they say, "Ooh,
take that out. I know that the camera was rolling buT… ” And that’s your great moment they want nixed.
Then what?):

I think people get kind of
lost in the moment a lot of times and they say things that they don’t even
really think about. And then when they see it in the finished film they are
kind of shocked. So you have to be really persuasive in explaining why it will
be important to other people when they see the film. We’ve had some tricky
situations. One time we cut something out when we had done a series because it
would’ve potentially really embarrassed the subjects in front of their children
and embarrass the children publicly. And that was really the only thing they
objected to. And we cut it out, even though it was tough, structurally, for the
film.

In
terms of whether or not the subjects even see the film before it’s released—it
depends on the film; it depends on fact–checking, and it depends on the
arrangement that you make at the beginning with people. We had the film Manhunt about CIA operatives and analysts. And the
three main people came to Sundance and we had agreed to show it to them before
the first public screening. And we said, "You can watch this now. But it’s
going to be a very different experience to have your first viewing of this film
be with an audience that will embrace you and the film” I always assure them.
And this is true. I find that subjects tend to be much less self–conscious at a
screening with an audience than they are watching the film for the first time
alone on a television. It’s too much like a magnifying glass. If you’re
watching yourself on a screen all alone, you are going to pick up everything
about yourself that you don’t like. It’s going to become very personal. It’s
not going to be about the film experience. If you can watch it with an
audience, for the most part , it’s going to be gratifying. The film’s subjects
feel acknowledged rather than analyzed. Validated. One of the subjects who was
very vulnerable in the film … I sat with her; we held hands during the
screening, and she cried a lot. And then when it was over she was so happy. She
said, "I’m so glad we waited and saw it in this way, with this audience.” She
could feel the respect. That was something that she had been really hoping for,
for a long time.

On leaving it in (even when I make my case, the subject really wants
something out and I need to say, "No, we have to leave it in”):

Yes. We have had that. And
that’s really tough. That’s really a painful situation to know that the subject
is unhappy with what’s in the film. But a lot of times it’s really a subjective
experience that they’re having watching it. And what we try to do in that
situation, is have other people who are around them who they trust, see the
film with them. Because with the kind of closeness that they have to the
person, but with distance from the film itself, that’s often a way that people
can be kind of convinced, "Okay, well, no, you don’t look like this.” or
"You’re not saying that.” or "It’s not showing your story this way. You’re
seeing it this way but, me as one of your confidants, can tell you, ‘No, it’s
not coming across that way.’” And that makes all the difference.

On how making
these kinds of decisions, having these kinds of sensitivities, having a clear,
respectful vision of something you’re working on shapes you as a person, not
just as a producer:

The
people who’ve allowed us to enter their lives and make films with them/about
them, have been a big influence on me. There’s first of all, the spirit of
people who are fighters and who are struggling and who are relentless in trying
to make change. Those people are exhilarating to be around. And there’s the
people who are so special like Bishop Christopher from God Loves Uganda. You just feel this aura
from him. What he’s doing is so pure. And his devotion to it is so pure. It’s
incredibly inspiring. Over and over and over again I’m inspired by the people
who we make films about. And I just feel so lucky that they trusted us and that
we have this continuing relationship as well. You meet these extraordinary
people from all different backgrounds, telling all different kinds of stories.
It’s an incredible privilege to be able to connect with them in any way and
especially to really tell their stories.

And there
you go. Wish granted.

There’s a hybrid effect that sometimes
happens with fiction and nonfiction in documentaries. The boundaries are really
being pushed, which is very exciting. Not every documentary is going to be all
verite. Not every documentary is going to be all talking heads. It’s going to
be some mix now. The idea of creating something that takes a page from fiction
and has something that’s immersive …that’s very different. That kind of grey
border is going to continue. We did a whole animated film in Life, Animated that’s
a completely separate thing that you could take out and you have an animated
five–minute film. But it’s broken up in
the feature very, very deliberately and with great intention. But back in the day that would’ve been like,
"Okay, you’re out. That’s not the strict
documentary rules.”

{ Good collaborations}

Bring this to the table:

I really look at these films as a group of people coming together to make something that is going to be profoundly moving, or else to move people to action, or to have an incredible artistic experience. There are so many different ways that you want these films to connect with people, but to do that you have to have the right kind of chemistry between the people who are making it. You want to have an editor who is somebody who wants to hear your ideas and talk things through. You want to have a DP who’s going to be somebody who is flexible and open. You want people to bring the best of what they have to it, to share their individual unique vision, but also be fluid in the way that they work with others. We tend to telegraph that idea when we work with people, and because of that, it tends to be very collaborative. It tends to really bring together a very, very strong team. It’s a field of play that everyone can participate in. It’s not about hierarchy. It’s about who’s bringing great, compelling ideas and who is figuring great, imaginative ways to execute those ideas.

Leave this at the door:

Ego. If your ego is at the center of how you move through the world, you are not going to be a great collaborator, obviously. And you don’t want your ego leading the way anyway. It’s a way to rob yourself of the benefit of the gifts and talents of others. That’s why collaboration is so wonderful when it works without a lot of ego gumming up everything. Being intransigent, being set in your ways, being defensive, not open to other people’s ideas but also needing to claim everything as your own, is just totally exhausting and I actually feel bad for people who are slaved to that sort of method of work. It’s not for me. For those kind of filmmakers, it’s "one and done.” Maybe you work with them once but you never work with them again.

Creative ambition and the
financial realities of new media are forces that often find themselves in
conflict with one another. Dig a little deeper and you find other structural
tensions, such as the audience-driven trend towards fan/creator interaction
versus the artist’s single-minded pursuit of a unique creative vision. But at
Legion of Creatives, Jay Williams and his team are betting on these oft-diverging
forces coming together in symbiosis, and the early returns are promising.

For Williams, who came
out of Disney’s marketing division, storytelling and audience development have
always been of a piece. Having started his career working on brand integration
efforts, Williams saw these commercial efforts as an opportunity to develop his
creativity. "I was really fortunate, as I got a chance to hone my craft for
storytelling,” Williams said of his early experience, "but I also learned how
important brands were. What I realized early on was just because you’re a
marketer doesn’t mean you’re not creative.”

Even early in his career,
Williams’ work often sat in the digital space. And we’re talking early, in
digital marketing terms; his first experience with digital promotion was
working with CBS and Prodigy. "It was all text,” he explains. "And we did a
‘watch and win’ with the CBS fall season. This was early for digital. Murder She Wrote was still on the air.”
While his current company works with cutting-edge digital tools, the goal then
was the same as it is now: encouraging savvy audiences to invest more deeply in
stories by using technology.

Jay Williams (right) with fellow PGA member and vice president of Disney/ABC Television Group's Digital Media Studio, Chris Thomes

In 2000, Williams came out
west to work in Disney’s creative content division. "It was a group within
Disney Studios, that lived in the space between TV spots and trailers,” Williams explained. "It’s the other great
content that can be developed around the stories we’re producing at Pixar and
other Disney properties.” This effort pushed back into digital and early
iterations of mobile content. "It was about the innovation. Where can we take
the storytelling? Our work went from a passive experience to a very interactive
experience.”

After spending some time
post-Disney on the ad agency side, again working on creative content, Williams
moved over to work for Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci at K/O Paper Products.
"Hands down, two of the most creative writers I’ve ever met. I learned so much
from them about the creative process,” says Williams. But that learning was a
two-way street, especially when it came to the marketing process. "Once a
script is complete, a lot of the old guard of writers think, ‘okay, my job is
done, I’ve written this.’ Whereas today’s writers are like, ‘Now I can actually
communicate with the fans! I can take that fan base to a whole new level.’ And
we had some really early success with that on Sleepy Hollow.” The fans weren’t the only ones who noticed; the
TV Academy recognized Sleepy Hollow with its 2015 award for Outstanding Achievement
in Interactive Media User Experience and Visual Design.

After K/O dissolved, Williams found himself in
the new position of being able to strike out on his own. Partnering with Orci,
screenwriter Noam Dromi, and Sleepy
Hollow cast member Orlando
Jones, Williams formed Legion of Creatives as a response to what he saw as the
needs of writers and producers in an increasingly digital entertainment
landscape. To Williams’ credit, he remains steadfastly focused on the quality
of the work he’s fostering. "We’re interested in premium digital content. The
‘premium’ really comes in with the scripted part, bringing in the best writers
from movies and television, people who really know how to write stories.”

Legion of Creatives also
finds success in a model that fits somewhere between traditional television
production models and independent film. Specifically, by keeping costs down
through tight production timelines and the use of technology, Legion of
Creatives is helping its partner artists work in new ways. As Jones explains,
"Jay’s focus on new technology to empower creatives together with a reframing
of storytelling formats has the potential to disrupt production models that are
starting to strain as the media landscape becomes increasingly fragmented.”

That instinct towards disruption informs the
content itself, and Legion of Creatives functions as a collective looking to
tell stories that traditional models won’t tell.Inspired by the success of Sleepy Hollow, a
show with a diverse cast that told authentic yet fantastical stories, Legion of
Creatives is pursuing partnerships with creative talent across the spectrum.
"In digital, we’re telling stories you won’t find elsewhere,” asserts Williams.
"We feel part of that model is bringing different audiences in. Digital is a
great place to do that. And unlike on TV, you can connect on the platform where
your show is actually airing.” With Sleepy Hollow
specifically, Williams also cites overwhelmingly positive fan feedback on the
diversity of the show.

Williams (left) with Legion of Creatives co-founder and co-president Noam Dromi at the 2015 Emmy Awards

Furthermore, by engaging with a wide spectrum
of fans directly, Williams is carving out room for new voices. "It’s really
important to find partners who tell authentic stories. Whatever our creative
conceit may be, our creative partners have lived it. And they have a unique
perspective on it.” One partnership is with disabled performer Katy Sullivan,
an actress who Dromi met while working on Dolphin’s Tale. "She
is incredibly talented,” says Williams, "and we have a project we’re working on
now with her called Legs that’s about what it’s like to be a
31–year-old woman who happens to be disabled trying to make her way in life.
It’s just an honest, unapologetic look at her experience.”

Connecting with fans also means partnering with
entities such as xxArray, a company that allows fans to scan themselves in a
photo booth with 150 still cameras, and become part of the show’s cast.
"Instead of doing your crowd scene with nondescript CG people,” Williams
explained, "we can fill it with fans. And now you have fans that want to watch
and see that they’re in the show.” This is new territory. LoC is currently
using the technology on its new season of Tainted Love
featuring Jones, and the response has been exciting. "A lot of fans are asking,
why haven’t we been able to do something like this before?”

For Williams, his passion in creating content is
driven by the fans. "Part of having a partner like Orlando is that we
understand the fan base. He always takes the time for his fans. He goes the
extra mile. I’ve learned how important that is. When you talk about the
increasing bifurcation of audiences, the question is, how do you go about
building an audience? You do it through loyalty.”

To that end, he’s pushing his projects to
utilize the sort of technology that can put the fans into the action, which for
LoC means staking out a position in the vanguard of virtual reality. Sleepy Hollow was
among the first shows to have VR content associated with it, and as that
technology develops, Williams wants his team developing for it. "The mistake a
lot of people make with technology is it becomes a crutch.” Instead, Williams
asks, "How can you use technology to actually supplement the storytelling, so
your production value becomes greater?”

As this hybrid production
model matures both at Legion of Creatives and elsewhere, it will organically
attract partnerships with more traditional media powers. Legion of Creatives is
collaborating with ABC as they develop their digital platform, while also
working with companies like eOne on international distribution, and figuring
out the different ways to move content across borders. "Something that’s a
digital series here in the U.S.,” said Williams, "can be a movie in the
international market.”

The question then becomes how to fund premium content. "You hear people
talk today about there being too much content,” Williams muses. "For me,
there’s still not enough good content.” For Legion of Creatives, this mandate
carries serious implications for content creators. Having that seat at the
table demands an investment beyond simply writing a script and handing it over.
It’s a chance to change the game. "Digital is a different place,” Williams
smiles. "It’s fun to be able to write the rules instead of frankly, playing by
everyone else’s rules.”

Imagine yourself sitting at home on a Thursday
night after dinner, watching your favorite TV show and texting friends about
the upcoming weekend. You want something to do on Friday night, and one of your
friends recommends looking at the showtimes at the local theater to select
which film would be the best choice to kick off the weekend. It’s easy to
imagine this scene playing out every week in homes all across the country. What
is perhaps less recognized is that this scene plays out with much greater
frequency in the homes of Hispanic Americans.

Hollywood has had a prominent place in American life for generations.
Going to the movies remains an escape from everyday life, a break from the
truths we face every day: bills, work, child care responsibilities. The allure
of visiting a communal space with a large screen dedicated to this beautiful
art form remains one of those reachable goals that most people and families
enjoy sharing with friends and/or family. For Latinos, this is true to an even
greater extent. According to NRG’s 2015 Moviegoing Report, Hispanics are 10%
more likely to be moviegoers (85% versus 77% for non-Hispanics). Additionally,
they are more frequent moviegoers, seeing an average of 8.6 films per year
versus 7.2 for their non-Hispanic counterparts. When you combine this with the
fact that Hispanics attend in bigger groups (55% of Hispanics attend with three
or more people versus 42% of non-Hispanics), it’s indisputable that this
population packs some powerful box office punch.

Driving Box
Office Sales

"No longer can the domestic market sustain the
budgets of studio projects on its own,” says Deborah Calla, Chair of the PGA
Diversity Committee, and Women’s Impact Network (WIN). "It is clear that in
order to maximize profit, movie studios need to speak directly to the various
cultural groups that make up the population [of the United States].” According
to Nielsen, Hispanics generated $2.3 billion in box office revenue last year,
which is 21% of total sales. For a demographic group that represents nearly 18%
of the total U.S. population, that’s impressive. "We know that Hispanics are a
loyal movie -ticket -buying group,” says Calla. "If targeted with specific and
culturally significant campaigns, [Hispanics] will support a studio film with
greater presence and expenditure.”

As more
marketers recognize and market to this consumer, Hispanics continue to flock to
the movie theater to enjoy the experiences of being completely engaged with and
often enthralled by, the big screen. More than half of Hispanic moviegoers
(53%) say they go to the movies for the big theater experience. This is a fact
that movie studios and producers should take much solace in, given a media
landscape that allows for viewing or enjoyment of every form of media,
essentially from the palm of your hand. The act of visiting the movies and
enjoying the experience in totality—from the convenient ticket kiosks, to the
refreshments counter, to the luxury seats—is something celebrated by Hispanics.
A recent Mintel report on moviegoing noted that Hispanics over-index across the
board when it comes to spending on the extras, such as advanced tickets,
reserved or premium seating, theater snacks, beverages and even full meals. And
then, of course, there’s the spending on the content itself. NRG tells us that
Hispanics are much more likely to see movies in 3D as well as seeing more
titles in 3D annually when compared with non-Hispanic audiences.

Every studio head or marketing director works hard to deliver an
impactful opening weekend. If that’s the case, targeting Hispanics with
advertising in-language could be the recipe for success. Calla notes, "When the
[advertising] messaging is targeted to the Hispanic community in their native
language, in a culturally-appropriate way, there is a feeling of inclusion and
acknowledgment. The greater returns
reflect and justify these target-specific campaigns.”

Hispanic audiences tend to visit the theater on opening weekend more
than any other demographic segment. According to NRG, 45% of Hispanics go to the
movies on opening weekend versus 33% of non-Hispanics. Another important factor
to consider is the power of word-of-mouth among Latinos. Hispanics are very
social, and the impact that has on the ways in which they share information
about products they love—including
films—is notable. Hispanics are more likely to be convinced to see a movie in
theaters (45% Hispanic vs. 42% non-Hispanic) and will pass along what they’ve
heard about a movie more frequently (52% vs. 45%).

A Diverse
Hollywood Reflects a Diverse America

As powerful as their current box office impact
may be, Latinos likely will have an even greater impact in the years to come.
Because Hispanics are more highly concentrated in the younger age groups, they
account for nearly a quarter (24%) of all ticket sales among millennials. Given
their relative youth, Hispanics have more effective years of buying power than
non-Hispanic whites, Asian-Americans, and African-Americans. In fact, the
window is an estimated 20 years greater than non-Hispanic whites, per Nielsen,
due to a much younger median age combined with a greater life expectancy. What
does this mean? It means more opportunities to target them across their
lifetimes as moviegoers who attend with their families now, and who will one
day take their children and grandchildren to the movies.

The
social experience of moviegoing is another big draw for Latinos. Not only do
they tend to go with family and friends, as the most active users of social
media, they are also most likely to post about movies. In fact, Hispanics are
36% more likely than non-Hispanics to share their thoughts about films across
social platforms. "The social experience of moviegoing is clearly a key driver
for Hispanics,” says my colleague, Hilary Dubin, Vice President of Business
Development at Univision Communications. "Our research community,
Univisionistas, an online research panel of over 5,000 members, tells us that
47% go to the movies because it’s an entertainment activity they can enjoy with
family and friends.”

As much as Hispanics are already the most
frequent moviegoers, there may be even more opportunity to drive additional
attendance. Dubin notes, "Our
Univisionistas tell us that they want to increase their moviegoing. In fact,
74% of the panel would like to go to the movies more frequently.” That increased appetite for entertainment may
entice even more films to market to this consumer. It’s time to think beyond
the genres that are most closely associated with Latino moviegoers.

Films across the genre spectrum
have enjoyed success with Latinos. Horror films, family-friendly fare, and
action blockbusters all do exceedingly well among the cohort. But a diverse
taste across a multitude of genres is becoming more and more prevalent. In
fact, according to NRG, Hispanics over-index on being fans of every genre—from
action/adventure to art house/independent. "One clear way studios are trying to
target minorities with their products is through casting,” says Calla. "Putting
actors on-screen who represent diversity creates ways for audiences to see
themselves represented, and as participants in cultural storytelling.” Consider
the success of Straight Outta Compton, or Furious 7, the latest installment in
one of the most lucrative movie franchises in history. These titles buoyed a
historic year for Universal Studios, one in which the studio grossed nearly
$2.5 billion overall and commanded over 21% of market share during the same
time frame—tops among all distributors in the United States, according to
boxofficemojo.com.

It is crucial to note that
both Universal titles have incredibly diverse casts with people of color in
prominent starring roles. If the media we watch is a mirror to our world,
reflecting the diversity of characters and people all around us is not only the
right thing to do morally, it’s proving to be a sound business strategy too.

The Case For
Multiculturalism

Latinos are avid moviegoers; this much is true.
But according to a study released by the Media, Diversity, and Social Change
Initiative at the USC Annenberg School for Communications and Journalism, they
may not be finding the characters on the screen—or the opportunities behind the
camera—that accurately reflect America’s makeup.

The study, which is called the Comprehensive Annenberg Report on Diversity, found Latinos are among the least represented
speaking roles in film and TV, even though they make up about 17% of the U.S.
population. Out of more than 11,000 speaking characters surveyed in film and
TV, 5.8% were Hispanic or Latino.

The case can be made that this illustrates the need for a systemic
change that starts even before the director’s chair or the producer’s chair. It
starts in the writing room where small armies of dedicated writers, thinkers,
comedians, and creatives are developing the stories, words, and images that the
actors on-screen will deliver. Lacking that diversity in the development
process will most likely result in a lack of diversity in the finished product.

Given the avidity of Latino
moviegoers, Hollywood is clearly already delighting these consumers with its
exceptional storytelling. Latinos are contributing more than one out of every
five dollars spent at the box office. Just imagine how much more box office
potential there is to be had from these enthusiastic attendees if they start
seeing more films that acknowledge their experiences, reflect their values,
mirror their faces and echo their voices.

I shot a documentary series in a gold mine in the
Western Australian Outback that was both terrifying and exhilarating. It was
about a mile underground, took about 45 minutes to drive down to, and was well
over 100 degrees with 20 pounds of emergency gear on everyone. It was like
shooting on another planet, and gave us a real appreciation of what it means to
be a miner.

Dana OffenbachProducer, The Girl Is in Trouble

Copacabana Beach in Rio de
Janeiro. This is by far one of the most beautiful and sexiest places I’ve ever
been to. Body image doesn’t conform to American standards and the freedom from
that is in full effect everywhere you go. That carefree sexiness seeps into
your footage naturally.

Bennett SchneirProducer, Ouija

The FedEx sort facility for Cast
Away. You’re in this vast building. All around you, above and below,
tens of thousands of packages rolling through a never-ending labyrinth that
looks like something M.C. Escher and Rube Goldberg dreamed up over beers. What
made it the coolest was Zemeckis’ camera following just one single package
through the infinite.

I knew from the time I was 11
years old that I wanted to be a filmmaker. I have had many amazing
opportunities in the industry including working at the studios—directing,
writing and producing for nonfiction television and documentaries. I’ve also
had opportunities as a member of the PGA. One that I’m most grateful for has
been participating in the Mentoring Program.

After optioning an original theatrical screenplay, I
wanted to find out more about the process of how to get a feature film made.
What does it take to get a film from script to screen? How do you make that
crossover from producing nonfiction television and documentaries to
feature-length fiction films?

As part of my "quest for knowledge,” I applied to
the PGA Mentoring Program. I vividly remember the day I found out that my
mentor was Lauren Shuler Donner, whose impressive credits include You’ve
Got Mail, Free Willy, The Secret Life of Bees, and X-Men. I was
thrilled. I reached out immediately to her office to set up a meeting, then
started preparing my questions and doing my research. I wanted to be respectful
of her time and knew that I needed to go in well prepared.

We met at Lauren’s
office. I have to admit, at first I was a bit nervous, but once we started
talking, I quickly felt at ease and the conversation flowed naturally. Lauren
asked me about my work as a nonfiction/documentary producer/writer and about my
other projects. She was supportive and insightful and encouraging.

Lauren helped me to
understand how the skills I have as a nonfiction/documentary producer and
writer translate to working in feature film. For certain, I knew I’d bring to
the table dedication, tenacity and loyalty, along with a keen sense of humor
and the ability to roll with the punches. She was open to my many questions,
and I appreciated that she was so forthcoming. Our conversation was exactly
what I had hoped it would be. After our meeting, I knew I was on the right
track and I just had to keep at it and move forward, even if it took years.

As our mentoring period came to an end, Lauren
graciously offered to help me in any way she could and left the door open for
continued communication. I honestly can’t thank Lauren enough for her time and
encouragement. She helped me realize the possibilities we have as filmmakers and
that with persistence, our dreams can come true.

I am grateful to my Guild and to my colleagues
who dedicate their time to the Mentoring Committee. It is an invaluable
program! Thank you.

Co-chairs
of the Mentoring Committee for nearly eight years, Meta Valentic and Jill Demby
Guest, are deeply appreciated for their hard work.

Jill volunteers because
she understands what it’s like for a newcomer to enter the industry. When she first started out, she had the good
fortune to encounter a generous mentor who motivated her to do things she never
dreamed were possible. "Volunteering on this committee helps me to ‘pay it
forward’ by offering mentoring to many others,” she states. Meta, also a member of the PGA Women’s Impact
Network and a participant in the Diversity Committee’s Producing Workshop last
summer, backs up that sentiment. She doesn’t hesitate to pitch any potential
volunteers reading this magazine: "You will meet your fellow PGA members and
have a great time. And you will probably learn something new about both the
industry and yourself! You never know what may come out of it—I’m
currentlyworking on two features with producers I met while volunteering
for the Guild.”

Jill primarily produces
nonfiction content and is currently working on a documentary feature film as
producer, writer and director. She’s also notorious for honing her storytelling
skills at theatrical venues all over LA and NYC. Meta continues to keep herself busy producing
independent feature films, shorts, and web series that focus on emerging
filmmakers and diverse stories, while also serving as an AD on a network
television series.

The Producers Guild of America salutes these talented
women for their passion and generosity.

PGA member Josh Siegel is one of the
producers of Shot, a forthcoming feature starring Noah Wyle as a
guy who—you guessed it—gets shot. The film, a critical look at the consequences
of gun violence, was, um, shot inLos Angeles, in November and December,
2015.

"Our AD had just called ‘cut’ on rehearsal for
the pivotal scene in the movie where Noah gets shot,” Josh recalled for us.
"Everyone went off to do their thing. That’s director Jeremy Kagan in the hat,
conferring with our script supervisor, Genie Babcock. And Noah decided to
just kick back and chill in the middle of the sidewalk. He’s actually right on
his mark for where he falls to the ground after he gets shot in the scene.”

Producing-wise, this is not necessarily a bad
thing. A movie star lying supine in the middle of the set is easier
to find when you need him than one who’s locked in his
trailer. And an actor who’s comfortable enough to recline on some concrete
probably isn’t about to suggest major dialogue changes.Honestly, given
those placidly folded hands and relaxed, splayed-out feet, we suspect Noah Wyle
may be on to something here.

At the very least, this is a man who knows how to keep it
loose and fun on set, even when he’s about to get shot. Accordingly, some
BOSPOAT props for the sort of offbeat professionalism we love, and for Josh,
who knows a good moment when he sees it.

We know what you’re thinking. "Best of all time? No way. I’ve
got an on-set photo way better than that.” If that’s the case, we dare you to
prove it. Submit it to BOSPOAT@producersguild.org. Before you submit, please
review the contest rules at producersguild.org/bospoat. Because no matter how
great your photo is, we have no desire to get sued over it.

I’ve heard it from dozens of producers over the years, and most of you out there know that it’s true: the quality of your pre-production dictates the quality of your production. Many producers are at their very best during prep—working the phones, securing talent and locations, and hustling for sufficient financing for their budgets.

In fact, producers during prep are so locked in on their efforts on behalf of the project, that they sometimes neglect one extremely important element: their own deals.

I am not a producer by trade. But I am an attorney, one who spent years representing creatives, and then more years representing the studios. And on that basis, my admonition to every PGA member is: Protect yourself and protect your credit. Before you start formal prep on your project or render any valuable producing services, make damn sure you have secured your own contract. (And yes, this means that your deal is in writing!)

Based on the correspondence I’ve received, this does not seem to come naturally to producers, even very good ones. A great producer, it’s widely thought, is one who always puts the project first. Momentum in this business is everything. It runs against a producer’s every instinct to do anything to slow the momentum of her project, especially over something that she has a measure of control of ... like contract details. We can work that stuff out later, she thinks, once the show is on its feet and running.

NO. Just ... no. That jumbled logic unfortunately makes perfect sense to most producers—and it’s incredibly dangerous. Again and again and again, I hear from PGA members who put at risk their credit, their compensation, and even in worst-case scenarios, their personal savings, because they serviced their project’s needs at the expense of their own. That decision leads to very smooth productions, and very brief producing careers.

This is not obvious to every producer, but I am here to advise you that your project is less important than your career. When a producer defers these negotiations, he sells himself short. You’re a producer. You’re a professional. Your time and services are valuable. Your career is worth standing up for, even if it means an uncomfortable conversation with your investor(s) before the money is in the production account.

Have those conversations ahead of time and remember the adage, "An oral contract isn’t worth the paper it’s written on!” Above all, don’t be bullied into putting yourself at risk by signing any personal guarantee of revenues, even if the project falls apart because of it. I know that’s heresy, but trust me, you’d rather be hunting for a new investor than for an affordable bankruptcy lawyer.

As your Guild, we cannot provide members with individual legal advice, but we can refer them to attorneys who have experience representing producers’ interests. If you’re a PGA member and need a referral, please do not hesitate to contact our office.